Nargles Stole My Butterbeer
by Muggle Jane
Summary: In which Luna tries to convince a former Auror of the dangers of mistletoe. Oneshot, written for the HPFC Battle of the Houses and the Duct Tape Challenge. AU, obviously, 'cause Mad-Eye is alive post-war.


**A/N: None of the characters are mine. This plot bunny has been running around in my head for too long now! Written for the HPFC Battle of the Houses and Duct Tape Challenge with the prompt: Paint Splatters**

"There are no such thing as Nargles." The growled statement was punctuated by a long pull from a hip flask as the grizzled former Auror fixed one blue eye on the slight young woman in front of him. The magical eye was trained up at such an angle that the iris almost disappeared behind his eyelid.

"Sure there are," the blond witch replied reasonably, a small, dreamy smile on her face. "We can't see them, of course, but they infest mistletoe." She glanced around and then leaned toward him conspiratorially. "There's a lot of mistletoe in here right now," she whispered as though she was imparting some great secret.

She was answered with a scowl. "I can see that. I see through my head, I see through invisibility cloaks, I see Thestrals-"

"Me too," she cut him off. "I think they're very beautiful."

He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I've never seen a Nargle."

"Me neither," she agreed with a nod and a grin, with the air of having just proven what she was talking about.

"Then why-"

She cut him off again with a graceful wave of her small hand, a hand that was holding a mug full of butterbeer, like she'd forgotten it was there. "Can you see gravity?

"What?" The harsh question rang out loudly, drawing a moment's worth of stares from the other occupants of the room.

"Gravity. Or, if that's too Muggle-y obscure, can you see the wind?"

"Of course I can't see the wind!" he snapped.

"But it exists, doesn't it? The fact that you can't see it with that marvelous eye spinning around in your head doesn't negate the existence of it, does it?" Some of the golden liquid sloshed out of her mug as she gestured around with it, but neither one seemed to notice.

His one-eyed gaze turned speculative. "Very good, Miss Lovegood," he praised thoughtfully.

She leaned forward again. "Constant vigilance," she declared with another nod.

"And what do Nargles do?" he asked briskly.

"Take things, mostly. Hogwarts has an awful lot of them and they were always taking my shoes and quills and the little bits of food left on my plate before I could finish it."

He took another swig from his flask. "Then we're going to get rid of the mistletoe."

She clapped her hands together, or rather she clapped her free hand against the mug of butterbeer, effectively emptying all but a third of it; some onto her robes, some onto his, but mostly onto the floor between them. Neither one of them seemed to pay it any attention. "Most of the time I try to take it down, people yell at me."

"No one will yell at me," he promised gruffly. "If they need an excuse to kiss, then they don't need be kissing anyway."

Bunches of mistletoe started flying from all over the ceiling, ending up in Alastor Moody's outstretched hand. There were a few noises of protest, but as soon as it was obvious who was stripping the room of the festive decoration, the noises quieted down. In fact, the entire room seemed to have become considerably quieter, everyone's attention focused on the odd pair in the middle of the floor- the scarred wizard with the wooden leg and the large-eyed witch wearing almost offensively bright robes of yellow and silver and an unusual necklace made of butterbeer corks.

As soon as every last bit of mistletoe was held awkwardly between two large, scarred hands, he turned and stumped from the room, Luna skipping along beside him. "I don't want to burn this lot," he said. "Make everyone sick."

"That's how the Nargles get away with it, you see," she answered knowingly. "No one ever wants to burn the mistletoe."

He turned to look down at her for just an instant and then grunted. "We'll do it outside. There's enough snow out there."

She quite unconsciously dropped the freshly emptied mug into the troll's leg umbrella stand that sat precariously by the door and then clapped again, properly this time.

From the meager shelter of the doorway, he used his wand to levitate the mistletoe down into the middle of the street. It was dark and quiet outside, everyone safely inside where it was warm and dry. He raised his wand and waved it briskly and the air was suddenly filled with thick smoke as the bunch of green leaves all but exploded with the force of the flames.

"Wonderful!" Luna exclaimed, her hands clasped beatifically in front of her, smiling serenely like a blond Madonna.

Moody grunted again and pushed open the door behind them, admitting them back into the house. "There," he said, sounding immensely pleased with the situation, the iris of his magical eye disappearing as he watched the collection of plant matter burn away to nothing.

Luna looked down at her hand, frowning, as though noticing for the first time that she even had hands. "I think we were too late, Mr Moody," she said after a moment. "They appear to have taken my drink. I'm sure I had one at some point... It's gone now. I don't even think I got to drink any of it." She peered down at her garish clothing. "I'm afraid I seem to be wearing a lot of it, though."

"We'll get you another one," he declared, leading the way back through the house to the party. "Here," he said suddenly, pushing the hip flask to her. "Not too much, mind, it's got a kick to it. But I know I can trust it."

She looked at the proffered flask for a moment before taking it. "Thank you," she said gravely and took a long swallow, coughing as the harsh liquid burned its way down. "Oh, I hope this keeps the Wrackspurts away," she choked out, passing it back and then wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "They always seem to come to me when I have anything stronger than butterbeer to drink."

He took it back and eyed the flask suspiciously before looking back at the blond witch. He paused in the doorway to the sitting room where their friends were celebrating the holiday together, talking and laughing as though they didn't have a care in the world. "What are Wrackspurts?"


End file.
